


Haptic Part 2

by oldcoyote (contrawise)



Series: Displacement Verse [4]
Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: Blind Character, Crossover Pairings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contrawise/pseuds/oldcoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Temporarily blinded after an explosion, Steve struggles to cope with being helpless, and Blaine is all that holds him together. Part four of the Displacement Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haptic Part 2

**Author's Note:**

> This AU Avengers/Glee crossover follows movie!Steve, who was frozen in late 1944 (age 26) and woke up in 2011, and an alternate Blaine, who’s 24 at the present day and lives in NYC. Set post-Avengers.

Blaine had slept on numerous couches in his life - a byproduct of too many late nights studying in Dalton’s library, or practicing in the common rooms for the next competition. The end result was always the unpleasant sensation of couch-leather peeling away from his face in the morning, back stiff and skin itching from sleeping in his uniform again. 

In fact, he’d slept on enough painfully uncomfortable couches to know he could probably sleep anywhere. But that was before he’d slept on Steve’s couch.

Their days had fallen into a steady rhythm after the first night. Blaine was up, dressed, and out the door before the day nurse, Angela, arrived each morning. He’d come back in the evenings to the familiar sounds of her parting instructions to Steve, usually about leftover dinner in the fridge, or a reminder to call her if he needed anything (anything at all.) 

The first two nights, Blaine passed her in the hallway and smiled sweetly, wondering if Steve had mentioned to her that he already had somebody if he actually needed anything (anything at _all.)_

Blaine had adjusted to the different neighbourhood quickly, and to the strangeness of Steve’s newly voice-activated apartment. Even the care came naturally to him; the constant checking to make sure there was nothing in Steve’s path when he moved, to make sure that he could reach whatever he was looking for when he wanted it, the spare and invisible hand he supplied when Steve tried to do too much too fast on his own - which seemed to happen every five minutes. The frustration had begun to peek through Steve’s calm and controlled exterior, Blaine could see it, even if Steve never said a word.

Everything had changed, if just for awhile, and Blaine had slipped into all of it so easily. But the one thing he couldn’t adjust to was the lumpy, angled, scratchy couch. 

It wasn’t that it was too short for him to lie on, or too narrow; it was simply uncomfortable in every other fathomable way. The cushions were hard, the fabric was rough, even the metal frame seemed to mysteriously rise up around him at night, jabbing at his soft sides and jarring him out of any attempt at sleep.

He’d chosen to sleep on the couch the first night he’d stayed, even after being wrapped up in Steve’s arms for hours, soothing his frayed senses. Blaine knew it would be a bad idea to stay in the bedroom, even if they’d been together longer. His boyfriend was blind. The last thing Steve needed was a strange body in his bed, taking up space, squirming in his sleep, and disturbing his rest. 

The couch was unpleasant, sure (evil, devil couch, probably a Hydra weapon), but it was worth it, for Steve.

It was worth it for the feeling of coming home, slipping off his shoes and his bag, and finding Steve waiting for him in the living room. For the way his smile lit up his face, even under the slow-fading scars, when he heard Blaine’s footsteps. And for each night, when he’d curl up next to Steve and they’d listen to music, finding songs they both loved, songs from Steve’s childhood - playing Al Bowlly and Billie Holiday over the speakers while they slowly gravitated closer together.

The little touches, the sweet and gentle moments between them, had stopped becoming individual events and had slowly grown into familiar territory. Steve had always seemed so politely hesitant, but at the same time, he wanted so much that Blaine didn’t even consider denying him anything. A hand on Blaine’s thigh became arms around his waist, which slowly dissolved into the simplicity of being tucked into Steve’s side, head resting on his chest or his shoulder. All the while, Steve’s hands would drift over his body in patterns, like they were conveying silent promises back to him that Blaine was real, and complete, and right here.

That night, he was lying on top of Steve, face pressed into his shoulder, starting to drift off under the soothing, rhythmic attention of Steve’s hands tracing over his back and his hips, when he realised he didn’t even remember lying down. There was a song playing, old and crackling through the speakers like a vinyl, and he was so close to sleep he barely registered that Steve had spoken.

“This is… not a good couch.”

“Hmm?” Blaine hummed, nuzzling into Steve’s flannel shirt.

“It feels like the old barracks’ beds, where the springs dig into your back,” Steve mused aloud, his face pinching in confusion. “You’ve been sleeping on this?”

“Mm-hmm,” Blaine managed. “It’s not that bad.”

There was a pause, and he felt Steve’s chest swell with breath beneath him.

“Why did you ask to sleep on the couch?”

Blaine’s eyes drifted open, and he lifted his head. “You’re recovering,” he said.

Steve’s mouth curled into a soft smile, his still-cloudy eyes staring off over Blaine’s shoulder. “So?”

“So, I wanted to - make it easier,” Blaine said, wetting his lips carefully and folding an arm over Steve’s chest to rest his chin on it. “I mean, you don’t rest during the day; you want to do everything you did before, and I get that. I do. But you need to rest sometimes. You need to sleep.”

“I can still sleep, next to you,” Steve said.

Blaine smiled, taking in the stunning lines of Steve’s face up close. He leaned in gently, brushing their lips together in a soft, sweet kiss.

“I can’t even imagine how hard it is,” Blaine began gently, tracing fingers through Steve’s hair, “to be blind so suddenly. To have to get used to it. I know you don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve sighed softly.

“But I can… _feel_ you’re frustrated. I just want to make it easier.”

Steve shifted underneath him, his hands coming to rest at Blaine’s waist. “Then sleep next to me,” he said. “That would make it easier.”

“Okay,” Blaine agreed, eyes bright and searching Steve’s expression carefully. “If you’re sure.”

“Stop music,” Steve said loudly, and the sound trickling from the speakers died away.

It was an autopilot act for Blaine; climbing to his feet and helping Steve to his, guiding him to the bathroom, then to the bedroom and helping him undress. The first time he’d slipped off Steve’s shirt, he’d promptly tripped over the dresser drawers and landed flat on his face, too distracted by the long expanse of skin and perfectly defined muscles to watch where his feet were going. The second time was only fractionally more graceful, and this time Steve held on to him the moment his shirt was off, gripping Blaine’s waist deliberately and tightly, mouth quirked into a knowing smile at the corner.

“Shut up,” Blaine scolded him, flushing pink.

Steve’s brow raised innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Uh-huh,” Blaine said, tugging at Steve’s belt buckle and slipping the leather through the loops. “Pants off.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said teasingly, and Blaine felt a long, exquisite ripple of _something_ shoot from his hips right down to the curl of his toes.

 _Stop that,_ he scolded himself as Steve stepped out of his pants in plain boxer briefs, _you’re about to get into bed for the first time with your beautiful, blind boyfriend. You will_ ** _not_** _accost him with your freaking boner._

Steve found his way to bed by himself, reaching out and tracing fingers along familiar walls and furniture to reach it. There was a long moment, an ache in the silence, while Blaine stood still and watched him lying there against the pale sheets.

“Blaine?” Steve asked, brow furrowing. It took a moment for Blaine to realise he was waiting for his weight on the mattress.

“I’m here,” he answered quickly. “Sorry, I - just need to get undressed.”

Blaine remembered the last time he’d undressed that quickly: he was nineteen, and losing his virginity to his music-school crush, Owen. As it turned out, the getting undressed portion of the evening lasted about as long as Owen did.

Shaking off the memory, he turned out the lights and padded silently across the room, climbing into the empty side of the bed and trying to wriggle as little as possible. The mattress was firm, but comfortably so, and the pillows were soft and smelled of fresh linen, and of Steve.

He stilled himself quickly, curled on his side and trying to keep his legs from dangling over the edge, careful not to shift his weight around.

“Are you holding your breath?” Steve asked in a hushed voice.

Blaine flushed and buried his face in his pillow. “Maybe.”

There was a strange noise from the other side of the bed, a sudden shift in the mattress, and Blaine sucked in a surprised breath as long fingers brushed down the length of his spine tentatively.  He let out a gentle, relieved sigh as Steve’s palms settled on his skin.

“Can I-?”

“Anything,” Blaine said. 

The hands curved over his sides, drawing him deeper into the bedding until his back met the firm wall of Steve’s chest. His breathing slowed into a long, relaxed rise and fall as his eyelids drooped lower, and the weight of a broad, open palm dragged possessively over his stomach and stayed there.

He could feel Steve’s breath in his hair, and then a soft kiss to his crown, just before the world fell away.

*

Blaine had never slept so well as when Steve’s body was his bed frame, when he woke up tangled in sheets and arms, breathing in the cool morning air of the dawn. Spring was ending, and each day was growing hotter, but in the silvery early morning, there was only the sunrise and the warmth of Steve’s body pressed against his.

It was getting more and more difficult to extricate himself from the beautiful mess of morning and stumble to the shower, and the urge to do more than just hold or be held was hard to ignore. He almost felt guilty for using his shower time to relieve the pressure, but any hint of guilt faded away the moment he imagined those big hands in place of his own, keeping him pinned against the wall, making him moan with every languid stroke.

The nights were his refuge from the headache-inducing tailspin of his busy shifts at the café, and he’d skipped more than one open mic night in favour of the couch and Steve’s arms. It would only be a few more days, maybe a week, and Steve’s eyes would be healed. He’d already begun to see blurs and shapes. Soon they could go back to normal.

Blaine couldn’t help but wonder exactly what ‘normal’ meant now.

It wasn’t till the end of the week that he came home after his shift and passed a downcast Angela in the hall, walking too quickly, her face drawn in a permanent frown.

Worried, Blaine picked up his pace.

“I’m home,” he called once he got inside, toeing off his shoes. “Steve?”

There was no immediate answer, but it only took a moment for Blaine to catch the tell-tale blond hair over the back of Steve’s favourite armchair by the window.

“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve replied, but his voice was tight and oddly formal.

“Steve, what is it?” Blaine asked, leaning against the arm of the chair and studying his face.

Steve’s jaw was set in a firm line, his still-unseeing eyes cast out the window. He looked tired, more tired than Blaine had seen him all week. There was a long, deep cut along the back of his hand, freshly dressed. It hadn’t been there that morning.

“You’re hurt?”

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Steve said again calmly.

Blaine stood up straight and sighed, unsure of what to do. Something out of place caught his eye, and he turned to see what it was.

The broom was in the kitchen, resting against the doorframe. He took a few steps and glanced in the bin to find it full of bloodied clumps of paper towel, lost amidst a kaleidoscope of broken glass and ruined food.

Steve had tried to fix dinner himself. 

There was a long span of silence, and Blaine moved back to Steve’s side before he spoke again softly. “You’re not fine.”

Steve’s jaw flinched.

“You’re not fine,” Blaine repeated. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing,” Steve said.

Blaine rolled his eyes, shifting away from the chair in frustration when an image on the wall caught his eye. It was the news; a visual display that always came up along with the audio report. He’d seen it before when Steve asked for the headlines, but this time was different. This time there were Avengers on the screen.

_Aftermath attacks leave city unharmed. No casualties. Avengers save New York._

“You’re angry,” Blaine said, more to himself than to Steve. “You’re angry because there were more attacks, and you weren’t there.”

“I’m blind,” Steve said.

“Not for much longer,” Blaine countered immediately.

Steve’s eyes drifted closed, and he seemed to struggle with saying what he wanted to. 

“I know it’s not fast enough,” Blaine offered gently. “But it’s not forever.”

Still stiff and tense in his chair, Steve remained unreadable.

“Have you had dinner?”

It was a stupid question, and Blaine regretted it the moment it left his mouth.

“Yes.”

Blaine turned to address the computer system, but Steve cut him off. 

“No music.”

Speechless, Blaine pressed his lips together in a firm line, eyes flicking around helplessly. 

With no idea of what to do, he resigned himself to the couch. Quietly, he curled up against the arm, casting glances over to Steve where he sat, silhouetted against the fast-fading daylight. It was dark outside when he finally heard the clatter of Steve’s cane against the floor, the first time he’d heard it in days. Steve hadn’t needed it, with Blaine to hold on to.

Blaine stood to help, but Steve had already disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. Heaving a sigh, he wandered aimlessly into the hall and back again. He was ready to give up and go back to the couch when Steve emerged, heading for the bedroom.

Automatically, Blaine followed, ready to help him undress.

“I can do it,” Steve said firmly.

“Steve-”

“I’m not actually an old man, Blaine. I can do it myself.”

Blaine rubbed his eyes and held in a sigh of frustration.

After a moment of fumbling over buttons, Steve’s shirt fell to the floor, followed by the clatter of his belt buckle as his fingers moved to undo his pants. 

“I don’t have to work tomorrow, so I’ll - I can take the couch,” Blaine said quietly, turning to leave. 

“No.” Steve’s arm reached out, but was snatched back just as quickly. 

Blaine eyed him carefully for a moment, brow knitting together in sympathy. He wondered what it must be like; feeling that desire, or that helplessness. Wanting things for yourself, but having the strength to never ask for them out loud.

Silently, he hooked the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head before stripping down to his underwear, just like he did every night. 

Steve seemed to be listening, waiting for any kind of answer and standing perfectly still when Blaine’s fingers curled around his wrist gently and slipped down, pressing their palms together and interlocking their fingers.

The ragged breath Steve drew in relief was audible, and it spoke volumes. His head was bowed, almost shamefully, when Blaine pressed a warm hand to his belly and brought their bodies closer together, breathing the same air. 

It was a hot night, warmer than the rest of the week had been, but even in the stifling heat, Blaine wanted nothing more than Steve’s weight on him, all around him; a singular promise that he’d still be there in the morning.

Steve moved silently. He gave a gentle squeeze to Blaine’s hand before he let go, his careful walk to the bed guided only by memory and absent touches to familiar furniture. When he climbed in his side, he sat up with his back against the headboard and the sheets draped carelessly over his long, muscled legs.

Blaine switched on the fan, angling it towards the bed before he turned out the lights and climbed onto the mattress, balancing on his knees. Steve reached out for him instantly, finding his shoulder, guiding him closer without a word until Blaine straddled his lap and settled his weight on Steve’s thighs.

“Is this okay?” His voice came out as a whisper.

Steve nodded, his grip carefully tightening at Blaine’s waist, thumbing over the soft skin.

Blaine moved slowly, carefully, bringing both hands up to cradle Steve’s face and draw him into a comforting, easy kiss.

They’d learned each other’s mouths completely over the last two months, had found familiar places to put their hands, to hold on tight and ride the dizzying feeling of wanting and being wanted so badly. Blaine loved the way Steve’s lips parted just so, the way his body moved into it. No matter how many times they’d been here, it always felt brand new.

But this time Steve’s grip was tighter, his mouth harder and more desperate, sucking on Blaine’s lower lip and opening him up like he’d never done before. Blaine tried to catch his breath, tried to calm the heartbeat pounding in his ears, but the more he relaxed into Steve’s arms, the deeper the kiss became.

He finally broke away, gasping for air and bracing against Steve’s body to keep himself upright.

It was only a moment before he shifted up onto his knees and brought their mouths together again, twining both arms around Steve’s neck and pushing fingers through his hair, the dam of his self control crashing down. He tried not to moan into Steve’s mouth at the feeling of both hands on his body, squeezing and sliding over skin they hadn’t touched before; pressing inside his thighs, up along the curves of him and over the muscles of his back.

This time, when he broke away, Blaine dropped his mouth to the sweat-damp line of Steve’s throat, pressing a small, sweet kiss there as his hands followed him down. His pulse was still racing, but in this, Blaine wanted to take his time. He wanted to remember everything, every inch of skin as he dragged his callused fingers lovingly over the different lines of definition in Steve’s stomach, his chest, his shoulders, following the last of them with an open, wet kiss along Steve’s collarbone.

A low and needy sound escaped Steve’s mouth, the edge of a moan that was still caught in his throat as his brow knotted together and his eyes drifted closed, head tipping back against the headboard.

They’d never done this before; simply touching for the sake of contact, exploring with their hands and mouths just for the sensation, the taste, the need for more. Steve was too careful with him, hands tentative and shaky, but Blaine was patient.

Steve’s mouth dragged over Blaine’s shoulder in wet, lingering kisses, fingers sliding down and pushing under the band of his boxers and cupping handfuls of heated skin. He buried his face in the crook of Blaine’s neck, panting, letting Blaine sink into his lap and his grip, stifling a moan against the soft skin of his throat.

“It’s okay,” Blaine whispered, kissing his temple and threading his fingers through sweat-damp hair.

“I can’t see you,” Steve mumbled. “I just want to see you.”

“You can feel me,” Blaine offered softly, rolling his hips just enough to earn himself a gasp. “You can touch me, I’m here.”

Steve pressed his lips to Blaine’s jaw briefly before he pulled away and withdrew his hands, slumping back against the headboard. “I want to see you, when we’re like this,” Steve said. “I want to look at you, Blaine, I…”

“Shh, it’s okay. I understand, I do,” Blaine said quickly, rocking forward in Steve’s lap to run soothing hands over his chest. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“I want to,” Steve uttered so softly it was almost inaudible.

“I know,” Blaine answered with an adoring smile. He shifted his hips gently, enough to feel the thick outline of Steve’s cock through his underwear, pressing hard into his thigh. “Trust me, I know.”

Steve let out a barely-there whimper, his eyes pinching shut and hands grappling for Blaine’s waist. “ _God_.”

“We don’t have to do everything in one night,” Blaine offered, still stroking gently over his chest.

Both of them were breathing loudly, the sound rasping on the air over the buzz of the pedestal fan that kept their sweat-slick bodies cool despite the heat.

“ _Blaine_ ,” Steve said, and it sounded like a plea.

“Mmm,” was Blaine’s only reply, and he dropped to drag another open-mouthed kiss over Steve’s breastbone, hands tracing down to the band of his underwear.

“Please,” Steve moaned, gasping and arching his back as Blaine’s fingers wrapped around his cock, free hand pushing his boxer briefs down to expose him to the warm night air.

Steve was bigger than Blaine had expected, and he let his moan choke off and die in his throat at the jolt of heat that surged in his hips, and the feel of the velvety weight in his palm. More than anything, he wanted to make this good for Steve, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, swallowing as his mouth began to water.

He started slowly, palming along the underside, sliding his thumb over the head and taking his time to enjoy touching Steve so intimately, listening to the ragged breaths and soft, aching noises raining down from above. His skin felt too hot and too thin, and he wanted to dip down and sink his mouth over the head, wanted to take as much of Steve as he could and more. There would always be time for that; they had so much time. And this was about Steve.

His hand curled into a loose fist around the warm, smooth skin, sliding slowly up and down, silky with pre-come and careful with every stroke. Steve’s broken breaths turned into soft moans, and Blaine pushed at his own boxers, letting his cock spring free and bob against his belly before he curled his thumb around it, bringing them together in his stretched hand and moaning loudly at the slide of skin on skin. 

“ _Fuck_ , Blaine,” Steve breathed, head dipping forward as his shoulders shook with quick, sharp breaths.

Blaine rocked his hips to a slow rhythm, fucking up into his hand against Steve’s cock and cupping the back of Steve’s neck with his free hand to bring their mouths together. A hard kiss - messy and almost missing Steve’s mouth - left him panting as both of their cocks slipped against his belly, his hand moving over them in a steady rhythm, the friction and the dizzying sensation of it all too much too fast but still somehow never enough.

He kept his pace, the gentle rock of their bodies only punctuated with needy, eager kisses and the slip of skin against skin. It felt too soon when the familiar warning of Blaine’s orgasm began to pool low in his spine, but Steve’s hands suddenly tightened on his body, keeping him still and halting their movement completely as his hips twisted up off the bed. 

“Fuck, _Blaine!”_

“It’s okay,” Blaine said soothingly, brushing sweat-damp hair from Steve’s forehead and pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“You feel…” Steve panted, but never finished his sentence. 

Blaine’s hand twisted on an upstroke, sliding over the head of his cock and sending Steve over the edge, jerking up and moaning brokenly as he came over Blaine’s stretched fist and his belly. Blaine let out a soft, choked sound as he followed a moment later, loose fingers still dragging over them both, painted with come.

It was a long time before either of them spoke, their shoulders rising and falling to the rapid-fire need for more air in the muggy heat.

“That was - I - I-” Steve stuttered, his lips dry, dark pink and parted wide as he sucked in each breath audibly.

Blaine chuckled softly. “You’re amazing.”

Steve’s brow pinched together in confusion. “What?”

Blaine shifted on his knees, lifting his weight off of Steve’s thighs and giving him a quick parting kiss. “What’s more incredible is you just don’t realise how amazing you are.”

Blaine heard Steve’s amused huff of breath behind him as he climbed to his feet and gathered a tissue box from the dresser, wiping over himself quickly before he knelt on the bed.

“Not really,” Steve said. “I’m just another guy.”

He drew a sharp breath in surprise as Blaine’s hands caressed oversensitive skin, cleaning him up gently before he pulled up his underwear.

“Maybe,” Blaine answered, curling up against his side and sighing contentedly as they both relaxed into the bed. “But not to me.”

*

Blaine woke to the hum of the fan, washing him with a cool and constant breeze where he was spread out on the mattress. The ceiling was grey, dappled with morning light from the open window, and he blinked at it lazily for a moment before curling onto his side and nuzzling into his pillow. His eyes shot open again when he reached out, and found nothing beside him.

Steve was sitting in the chair by the dresser, still in his underwear, watching.

Worry shot through Blaine’s system like a rush of ice, and he pushed himself up onto his elbow, rubbing the sleep from his eyes frantically.

“What happened? Are you-” His voice died in his throat when Steve met his gaze, and realisation came flooding in.

“You’re looking at me,” he said.

It took a moment, but the corner of Steve’s mouth curled into a gentle and familiar smile that warmed Blaine from his head to his toes. 

“I am.”

“You can see?” Blaine said excitedly, shifting his balance on the bed. “You-?”

“Yes,” Steve said calmly. “I can see you.”

There was another long span of silence, and Blaine felt his stomach twist nervously as Steve’s eyes trailed down his near-naked body, spread out on his bed.

 _There’s a man in his bed,_ Blaine thought. _This is new. He needs time._

“I can…” Blaine began awkwardly, glancing over the other side of the bed to look for his clothes. “I mean, I can go. If you need time? I know we - last night - but… this is different, you can see me and I-”

“Blaine,” Steve cut him off, standing.

“I can _go_ ,” Blaine insisted softly, “and it’s okay. I can go if you want me to.”

Steve closed the gap with two steps, leaning over the mattress on one knee. With his hand spread across Blaine’s cheek, he brought their mouths together in a sharp, firm kiss; the kind of kiss that spoke for itself.

Steve let out a soft laugh as he pulled back, breathy and barely there but for the way his lips moved around his grin. He stayed where he was, hovering over Blaine, staring down at his sleep-addled boyfriend with adoring eyes. 

“What is it?” Blaine asked with a dopey smile. “What’s funny?”

Steve pressed another quick kiss to his lips, brushing his hand through messy curls. 

“I was just trying to figure out how to ask you to stay.”

_~ FIN ~_


End file.
